


six of one, half dozen of the other

by pega



Series: six seasons and a movie [2]
Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Friday update schedule, M/M, featuring my own special blend of canon and B Side lore, more sex than B side because why not, welcome to If I Wrote A Season Six
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pega/pseuds/pega
Summary: “There’s a discrepancy in the books that I was hoping you might clear up,” Adhir says as he walks from the doorway to the side of Gob’s desk. “We seem to have A. Bluth on our payroll, and I’m hoping you could enlighten me as to how that occurred.”Gob starts looking at loose strings, because he definitely doesn't miss his family, nope, not at all. He's not bored, or dependent on their dysfunction, not at all.He just wants to solve a few mysteries to fight existential dread. That's perfectly normal.Right?





	1. safe travels, good luck and stay brave

It’s been six months since Gob (or anyone) has heard from Michael. Which is strange. The longest stretch without contact that Michael’s pulled off before was six weeks at Search. Even then, Gob knew roughly where Michael was. Search does a lot of live streams, and not very many of them wore ties. This time, Michael is truly gone. No phone calls, no letters, no private detectives making inquiries. That’s not the strange part, although this is different.

 

No, what’s strange is that this time, Gob misses Michael a medium amount. A normal amount. He’s not mad at his brother any more. He feels like he can breathe without Michael watching, exist without fear of judgement or a need for attention. 

 

Gob knows he loves too hard and too much. He hates too hard and too much too. He’s used to feeling like a boiling cornballer, splashing feelings recklessly and burning anyone who gets close. But for once, for once, it’s like he has the right amount of oil and the right amount of heat, a sweet spot between the world burning and the world dimming, and-

 

Adhir knocks twice on the door. “Gob? I am going to enter in ten seconds unless notified that you are otherwise engaged.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “I swear, does that guy always do that? Interrupt like a big, interrupting -”

 

“-interrupter?”

 

“Yeah!” Tony’s eyes are bright and shiny and his hand hasn’t stopped moving, which reminds Gob that he actually does need to-

 

“-Adhir! Busy! Email me!”

 

Gob can hear a sigh through the door, even though it’s like a super nice door, heavy like an executive door needs to be. Adhir does back off, which is good because Gob is about fifteen seconds away from ruining Tony’s suit.

 

After ruining Tony’s suit, and damn, this might be why their dry cleaning bills keep piling up, Gob leans back in his ceremonial president’s chair and tries to put his feelings into words. He’s been getting better at that recently. 

 

“Hey, you know what’s funny?”

 

Tony pauses in his search for hand wipes. “What?”

 

Gob grins. “I don’t think Michael’s coming back.” 

 

“So, you were thinking of your brother just now?” Tony’s rolling his eyes, but Gob can tell by his voice that he’s not really mad. Tony always seems amused by the ‘Bluth Propensity for Incest’, as he likes to call it. Gob’s tried to explain that really, it all started when his mother decided to raise her half sister like his brother’s twin sister, while regularly sleeping with his father’s twin brother, but Tony still needs to reference the diagram to remember that whole basket of cornballs.

 

On second thought, maybe Gob’s just hungry. “Only like, thinking about how much I haven’t been thinking about him.”

 

“I’ll take it,” Tony replies, grinning softly in that new way he’s started doing since Gob found him and told him he didn’t have to be dead any more. “Oh! On an unrelated note - get it? -  you shouldn’t take our deal at the conference next week, the land is crap. You can lowball us and we’ll take it.”

 

Gob nods. “Thanks, I’ll tell Adhir. He really does all the business-y stuff.” He gestures at his office, and in particular, his office poster collection. He got a nice discount from Imagine Entertainment in exchange for not suing over using his likeness in the Buster Bluth: A Childhood Juiced series. “I’m much more of the creative, ideas sort of president.”

 

“I know.” Tony’s voice is soft too, and god, Gob is so happy they can be straight together now. “You’re like- like a boiling over pot of-”

 

“... cornball oil?”

 

“I was gonna say ideas, but yeah, sure.” He presses a kiss to Gob’s forehead, and Gob tries not to melt into a puddle on the carpet. “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

 

“Sure thing. See you later, rival.”

 

“Later, rival!”

 

Adhir is still waiting by the door after Tony exits out the window, so Gob calls him in. He’s feeling generous. Also, Adhir has been super cool about the whole ‘Tony Wonder occasionally may visit my office for hand stuff, we should probably work out a knocking system’ thing.

 

He does still sigh in a very Michael-ish manner whenever he sees the window screen on the floor. “Mr. Bluth, may I once again assure you that any visitors you may or may not have are always welcome to exit through the normal route? It would ease my blood pressure and our insurance premiums significantly.”

 

Gob coughs. “No idea what you’re talking about, Adhir.” He winks to clarify that he’s kidding, and he knows exactly what he’s talking about. “So, uh. What did you want to ask me, earlier?”

 

“There’s a discrepancy in the books that I was hoping you might clear up,” Adhir says as he walks from the doorway to the side of Gob’s desk. “We seem to have A. Bluth on our payroll, and I’m hoping you could enlighten me as to how that occurred.”

 

“Uh, no duh you have a Bluth on the payroll, I’m president.”

 

Adhir sighs again. “No, Gob, the initial A., last name Bluth.”

 

“Hey!” Gob exclaims. “I thought you were initially an a- too, but I got over it!”

 

“No. Focus.” Gob’s chief operating manager studies the ceiling like What’s Her Name would do before bed. “Do you have anyone in your family who has a name that starts with the letter A? I’m willing to draw you a picture but I’m hoping that some housekeeper, at some point, had the flash of insight to turn on public television.”

 

“Do I need to know how I’m related to this person? Because that’s a bit of a moving target.”

 

Adhir’s eyebrows raise in his version of a smile. Or at least, Gob is pretty sure that’s what the motion means, Adhir does it a lot. “Nope. Just something I can Search.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t know any A’s. Oh! Except my ex almost wife, Ann. Not to be confused with my other ex wife, but I never caught her name. Might have been ‘Amy’ something.”

 

Adhir nods. “Thank you for the effort.” He glances back at the open window. “Did you gain any new business insights since we’ve last interacted?”

 

“The deal at the conference next week is for bad land, Sitwell just wants to offload it.” 

 

Business things always make Adhir actually smile. “Good job, Gob. Of course, I really don’t endorse your methods, but I appreciate your open flow of communication. Would you still like me to purchase the land?”

 

Gob nods. “Yeah, isn’t it kind of close to our development? The medium size one? We could just use the land for a parking lot or a pool or something.”

 

“That’s actually a good idea.” Adhir offers Gob a candy. “If you don’t mind my saying, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by your skillset, Gob.”

 

Gob snorts. “Back off, Adhir, you know I’m taken. My boyfriend-”

 

“That I do, Gob. That I do.”

 

~~

 

Wednesday nights are for family dinners. Gob’s Small Friend, George Michael, and his niece (Gob’s pretty sure that part hasn’t changed, but Maeby may be older than him now or something) host them at the old folks home. Gob was a little surprised that they were still allowed to live there after the whole “Buster killed Lucille Two” revelation, but Maeby says that she’s still her father’s daughter, and she knows squatting laws like the back of her hand.

 

Gob’s just happy George Michael seems happy. The Fakeblock issue with the Chinese investors was confusing and frightening, but it cleared up without Gob needing to do anything, which is a major win in his book 

 

George Michael is the only one who knows what Michael is up to these days. 

 

“Wait, he’s doing a semester at sea for his maritime law degree?” Tony asks, delighted.

 

George Michael grins. “Hey, that’s their jingle! And yeah, he’s currently somewhere near Bermuda.”

 

Gob tries to ignore the tangle of jealousy and relief in his chest. “And they don’t have internet?”

 

“Oh, they have internet, it’s an online college, so-”

 

Tony frowns. “Why is he doing a semester at sea then?”

 

“It’s a practicum.”

 

“So-” Gob interrupts. “Michael’s serious about the whole no contact thing, then?”

 

Maeby nods, harsh and solid and unambiguous. “Yeah. My mom means it too, she won’t even give my dad her new number.”

 

Gob wonders (did somebody say) vaguely if he should try this, this ‘healthy emotional distance from your family’ thing. But he hasn’t felt smothered by the Bluths since Tony got kidnapped by Sally and he told them he was in love by stripping. The rest of them don’t seem to remember the details as well as he does, but it happened. It was real, and Gob thinks that maybe he got everything he needed back then, and maybe this is the Michael and Lindsey version of stripping, this silence and this absence as Michael earns a law degree and Lindsey runs Sally Sitwell’s campaign for Congress.

 

Tony nudges him then, pulls him out of his thoughts as gracefully as always, and somehow gets George Michael and Maeby to change the topic to their upcoming show in San Francisco.

 

It was Tony’s idea for them to start performing in other places. It turns out that the Gay Mafia control local theatres from San Diego to Humbolt, and are really only curtailed by the Thesbian Lesbian gang up in Oregon.

 

Those bitches.

 

~~~

 

“Hey,” Tony whispers later, when they’re back at their apartment (not a Bluth, thank you very much. Tony has standards that have rubbed off on Gob. Among other things), curled into Gob’s side like that possessive punctuation mark he could never get the hang of. “Are you okay?”

 

“Hm?” Gob murmurs. “Yeah, why?”

 

Gob feels Tony’s shrug more than he can see it. “All that stuff with your brother and sister at dinner.”

 

Sometimes Gob marvels at this. Tony is in his arms and he’ll stay there, even if Gob goes quiet and still at an easy question like that. Even if Gob says “no I’m not”. 

 

“I think so,” he tries, starting small. “It’s weird.”

 

Tony nods. “I bet.”

 

Gob’s met one of Tony’s several sisters so far. She was, as Tony put it, ‘aggressively normal’. She made dinner and they brought wine and by the end of it, everyone was slightly tipsy and laughing and no one was crying or revealing new fun facts about paternity. 

 

“I guess I’m not used to this, going slow.” 

 

Tony laughs a little, and Gob tenses, but it’s not mean, not at all. “You rescued me from Sally AND from the gay mafia, Gob. We’ve been living together since Rome. Is that going slow for you?”

 

“No, I mean going slow in life.” Gob wrinkles his nose because he refuses to wiggle anything else and miss out on this Tony hug, but there’s energy building and he has to let it out somehow. “Going the same direction. I haven’t run away in months, and I know that’s a good thing, and I’m not going to do it, because we promised, we only run away together now. But everything is so same.”

 

Tony kisses the side of Gob’s neck. “Same is nice.”

 

“Same is nice when it’s you, Tony.” Gob knows he isn’t getting through, and the memory of panic brushes past his shoulder. It takes a moment to push it down, but it happens. “I’m bad at same. The day to day stuff, the company and Wednesday dinners? I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

 

“I get that,” Tony replies. “Really, I do. I practice my shows so much because I hate things going wrong.”

 

“I don’t hate it.” Gob tries to explain. “Without Michael, Lindsey, Dad, or Mom, things have been- they haven’t gone wrong as much. There hasn’t been much happening, period.”

 

Tony pulls back and Gob misses the warmth, but then Tony’s eyes meet his and the flash of blue is worth the trade. “You’re bored and you miss your family’s dysfunction.”

 

“Exactly!” Gob exclaims.

 

Tony laughs, and god, Gob is lucky. “Well, if that’s all,” he teases. “Gob, we’re going to be doing a show in San Francisco. There’s going to be plenty of adventure, we can find something to add on.”

 

That’s not quite it, but it’s a start, and Gob smiles.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Tony settles back down into Gob’s arms. “No problem. I love you, dork.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

Tony falls asleep almost immediately. But Gob stays awake a little longer, his mind churning over on memories that really don’t make much sense strung together. That funny police officer, Adhir’s question about A. Bluth, Michael once asking him for all the information he had about Nellie. Gob’s pretty sure that last one ended up meaning Lindsey, but his point is, there are loose ends in his life. He used to be confident that they would just keep accumulating, and that he’d continue going through life not fully understanding everything that went on, because, well. Forty something years of experience pointed to that being the way the world worked for Gob.

 

But he figured out the Sally-Tony thing, his mind whispers. He got Tony out of the gay mafia contract, and while he didn’t figure out that Buster was the killer, he also feels like he held his own in that courtroom, like he understood what was going on at least as well as Michael, if not better.

 

Maybe it’s too late for him to change, but he’s changed before, from the Christian magician to the Gay Magician to just Gob, the magician dating that other magician and insanely happy about it. 

 

Gob settles down into bed, and starts to think.


	2. no trace

“You’re here in the office, at nine am, a normal start time, to follow up on a work related matter?”

Adhir doesn’t need to sound quite that shocked, grouses Gob internally. “Yeah. So, I know I’m not ‘unconditionally in charge’ or whatever, but on a scale of 1 to 100, what percent in charge am I?”

His chief compliance officer dutifully considers the question. “Truthfully? Twenty percent. It would be inconvenient if you were to revert to your prior levels of usefulness, but we could account for that by making an additional hire. You lack explicit experience and knowledge, but, as much as it pains me to admit it, you seem to have absorbed an intangible sense for the business through sheer exposure. Your, ah, connections are also valuable, and while your detail specific accuracy is inconsistent at best, I do take your recommendations under advisement. And if they’re particularly atrocious, I put them on the quote board.”

Gob grins. “Twenty percent, up top!”

Adhir high fives him, and hell yeah, this is why Gob works here. The positive work environment.

Plus, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a social security number, he can’t really get hired anywhere else.

“Wait, what percent are you in charge?” 

“Eighty. Gob, you do understand that you and I are the only full time employees left at the Bluth corporation, right?”

Gob did not know that. “I totally know that.” Gob pauses. “Wait, does that mean not even Lindsey or my mother are getting paid?”

“Your mother remains a stockholder, so she retains her place on the board. As for your aunt-”

“Gross.”

“-She is entitled to the dividends of one project in her name, but she has not cashed any royalty checks for approximately six months, when the Fakeblock... incident, occurred.” Adhir makes a stinky face when he talks about Fakeblock, which Gob thinks is kinda unfair, he did a great job as temporary CEO. But he also kinda gets it, there were several fistfights and the whole murder thing that ruined the unveiling. 

“But, Gob-” Adhir stops short of snapping to get his attention, but Gob can tell it’s close. “Was that your only question? Because frankly, it feels quite email-able. We went over how to use email, correct?”

Gob nods, distracted. “Right, yeah, email. Adhir, something keeps bugging me about the A. Bluth thing. Do you think it’s like, another sibling? Cause, let me tell you, those are in somewhat short supply these days.”

Some kids hate having siblings. Gob learned this when he went to school and was confronted with the unfortunate reality that he had to exist outside of his family for eight hours a day. It wasn’t cool to talk about your little brother, or your little but bigger than your little brother sister. So Gob got used to tempering it down, bundling up his thoughts until he could get home. But Michael and Lindsay were better at the ‘being cool at school’ part. Sure, Gob was more popular, but he knew it was the kind of popular you get when you’re too big for the world, not when you fit just right.

Adhir is looking at him like he can tell what Gob is thinking, and his eyes look a little sad. “Gob, if anything, have you considered the possibility that this is a fraudulent account set up by your father?”

“Didn’t the seed people take that?”

“The what?”

“The seed people, you know.”

Adhir blinks. “Do you happen to mean the SEC?”

“Yeah!”

Adhir doesn’t press the issue. “It may be helpful to think of your father’s crimes like an Easter egg hunt. Many eggs were found, but we have no way of verifying how many there may be.”

“Sounds rotten.” 

“Indeed.” Adhir’s eyes dart to the clock, and Gob knows he probably has somewhere important to be. “Gob, if this matters to you, would you like to take point on the matter?”

“Be in charge?” Gob can feel his voice going a little high, but whatever, this is it, this is his moment.

Adhir smiles, and Gob knew he liked this guy for a reason. “Yes, be in charge. I have meetings straight through the week checking in on our investments, and this seems to spark a passion in you. Just keep me updated on your progress.”

Gob laughs, and it comes out full and happy, like his stage laugh but real. “Don’t forget bud, I’m the president!”

“You sure are, buddy.” Adhir reaches into his pocket and pulls out a caramel. “Candy?”

~~~

Gob starts at the police station, because he’s seen detective shows before, and the police always seem to get huffy about not being asked for help. He briefly considers wearing his hot cops uniform out of solidarity, but there’s a tag sewn in that warns against initiating contact with the actual police while stripping, so Gob leaves it in his desk drawer. Even without the potential confusion of the uniform Gob fully expects to be turned away though, because otherwise, where’s the narrative tension? The drama? The private detectives in the shows never get along with the police.

Gob does not expect, however, to be immediately placed in a holding cell while the officers “figure out what he’s wanted for”. 

If Michael or Lindsay or Buster were in this situation, Gob could turn to them and make some crack about how they weren’t wanted children. Gob could try and make Michael say he was Gob, or convince Lindsay to flirt with the guards to help them escape, or have Buster scare them all with his freakish monster hand. 

But Michael is on a ship in the Bermuda triangle, Lindsay is actually his aunt and not his sister and is missing anyway, and Buster is in jail, for real for real this time.

Gob is on his own, and that helps him pull himself together, because this time, there’s no rescue.

A short butch police officer with a name tag reading “Toddler” is the one that eventually opens the door, and something in Gob relaxes. She looks competent, in charge, and while normally those are traits that the Bluth family dislikes in cops, in this situation, Gob actually does want the help of someone smart.

“Hello!” He offers up the officer a wave, but she just frowns pensively in return.

“Hey. Linda Toddler, call me Lieutenant Toddler.” Lieutenant Toddler makes her way over to where Gob is handcuffed, and sits at the opposite end of the table. “Look, I know what you’re here to talk about. We can’t discuss it in the station.”

Man, she’s good. “Okay.”

She sighs. “Don’t play hardball with me, I know we run in the same circles. Well. Adjacent circles. Keep your guys off me, ‘kay? I can pass on a message to her, but that’s the most I can do.”

Gob is getting the distinct impression that he’s missing something. “So you told me we couldn’t talk, but-”

“-Nope. No talking here. Meet me at Walker Park, six pm.” She frowns and looks at her notepad. “It says here you’re not in the system.”

Gob blinks. “Well, that’s a surprise. I’ve been arrested a few times, to be honest.”

“We have those records,” Lieutenant Toddler explains, “but you’re flagged by the IRS as a suspect for tax evasion.”

Huh. “But I pay them all the time.”

“Store taxes don’t count.”

“Oh. Then I’ve never paid them.” Gob brightens. “We have accountants though, I can direct your inquiries there?”

Lieutenant Toddler makes some markings on her notebook, Gob’s not great at reading upside down. Or right side up, if he’s being honest. “It’s fine, I’ll tell them to back off until next tax cycle.” She looks at Gob, and boy, that’s a lot of eye contact. “Walker Park, six pm.”

“Which part of the park?” Gob asks.

Toddler laughs, and she has a nice laugh, she really does. “You’re funny. See you then. And don’t talk about this with anyone else.”

~~~

Tony and Gob aren’t old. That’s very important to know. But they do have something of a routine going these days, and that routine means getting brunch together on Fridays. Gob can always take a longer break from the Bluth company, it’s really easy to do if you never clock in or out or have any predictable schedule whatsoever, and Tony still has his Friday night slot permanently reserved at the Gothic Castle, so he’s only just waking up around eleven am.

One of these days, Gob is totally going to steal that slot from Tony, he just hasn’t gotten around to it yet. It turns out it’s much harder to thwart your nemesis when you’re dating and living together. And in love. And get stupidly happy seeing them on stage.

Gob doesn’t mind though, because it means he gets to look at a still sleepy Tony over mimosas and toast. Tony’s hair is just slightly messier when it’s Friday brunch, and he’s more likely to wear a shirt with colors because Saturday afternoon is when they do laundry. Well. Make out on the washing machine until they get kicked out of the laundromat, and then they take the laundry to a different laundromat and finish up.

They're starting to run out of laundromats, but that’s a problem they can deal with later.

Right now, Tony is slightly bug eyed at Gob’s rendition of his morning in jail.

“Bro.” Tony blinks. “Fuck, man, I gotta visit New York soon, what the hell was that. Anyway. Gob, you were in jail an hour ago?”

Gob checks his watch. “More like thirty minutes ago. It’s all good, one of the officers told me to meet her at a park later tonight.” He knows he’s smirking, but he can’t help it. “Why is ‘bro’ uncool, but ‘man’ is fine? Aren’t they the same?”

Tony groans. “See. You people from the OC-”

“-don’t call it that-”

“-are incapable of finishing your words. You drop the ends off of everything! Bro is just. Ugh. Surfer talk. Man, however, is classic. You know, the first use of the term ‘man’ comes from human, so. It’s better.” Tony takes a victorious sip of his mimosa. “But back to the jail thing.”

Gob fiddles with his knife. “I really did just go to ask for help with this investigation, a work thing. Turns out it’s a station policy to question Bluths on sight these days.”

“Yikes.” Tony manages to sound truly sincere when he says ‘yikes’, which Gob loves. “Can you tell me about the work thing?”

It took Tony and Gob a few weeks to work out how they would manage the ‘working for rival companies’ thing. Tony is technically a consultant for the Sitwells, which fits his schedule better for performing. Gob is the owner and CEO of the Bluth company, but overall does less work. When it seems like traditional negotiations would just be shitty for both of them, they’ll just tell each other what they want, and no one gets screwed over.

In a weird way, Gob thinks things are healthier between the Bluth and Sitwell corporations than they ever were for the Bluth corporation alone.

He’s pretty sure that the A. Bluth investigation isn’t confidential, but he still shakes his head to Tony’s question. “I’ll let you know if it becomes something bigger, okay?”

Tony hums a gentle agreement, and they settle back into their favorite brunch activity, which is seeing exactly how much contact they can make under the table before they need to go home to avoid getting arrested for public indecency.

Gob tries to limit his contact with police officers to once a week, he really does.

~~~

Walker Park is where high schoolers swarm after school. This was true even when Gob went to Newport High, although back then, the park was distinctly jock territory.

That still seems vaguely accurate, although these jocks have a lot more foam swords than Gob remembers. 

The benches are the worn wood kind, the sort with graffiti layered in, decades old. Somewhere, there has to be a bench with his initials on it. Or a penis drawing, really it’s fifty fifty.

It’s a nice park though, and Gob enjoys the sun shining through the palm trees that line the main walkway. Tony thinks it’s weird that the parks down here have palm trees, but that feels natural to Gob. They stretch up to the sky, with the rough bark trunks that are simply not climbable unless you want to bring knife shoes. There’s something fitting about trees you can’t climb in Newport, and maybe it should make Gob sad to think that, but instead it feels solid and right. Like the world is agreeing with how he feels, and the physical space of the park manages to reflect it. The trees are still nice to look at though, and they look like giant dandelions if you can get the sun positioned just right behind the leaf burst.

It takes a while to find Lieutenant Toddler. She’s waiting for him by the edge of the smaller baseball diamond. Gob isn’t that late, only like ten minutes, but she still frowns at him when he walks up. 

“Didya get lost or something?” She huffs, and Gob didn’t think people did that in real life, huff. “Whatever. We both know why we’re here.”

Gob nods, and is about to bring up A. Bluth, but Lieutenant Toddler keeps talking, and she almost sounds nervous. “We’re keeping our contact with her under wraps. We aren’t like your people, we move with more discretion. And we need a politician in our pocket. The force can’t know about my involvement, do you understand?” 

He does what he usually does when people ask him if he understands something he definitely doesn’t. He nods again.

“Good. I think they suspect someone’s on the gang’s payroll, but they don’t know it’s me, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Gob keeps nodding.

“I like that you can keep your mouth shut, I didn’t expect that.” Toddler shuffles her feet and offers Gob an envelope. “Her number is inside there. Don’t go handing that out to anybody. You know she’s dating a celebrity now too?” 

As soon as the envelope touches Gob’s palm, Lieutenant Toddler gives Gob a respectful nod and starts walking off into the distance. It takes Gob a few precious seconds to process the envelope in his hand, and just as he feels like the world has stopped spinning, he tries to call out to Toddler, to ask how she knows Gob is dating Tony, to ask who the hell she was talking about, to ask about A. Bluth because he’s realizing now he never got the chance, but the sound dies in his throat when he looks at the envelope.

It has to be a coincidence.

It can’t possibly be a coincidence. 

But it’s the same shade of pink, the same grain thickness of glitter, and his name is on the front, just like before. 

His hands almost tremble, really, they do tremble, as he tears at the paper. For a moment, it’s like he’s back where he was a year ago, trying to figure out if Tony was alive or dead. 

All that’s inside is a phone number. And Gob could use his cell phone, call the number right here and now, but he runs home instead, because his breath isn’t quite working and he needs to see Tony, now.


	3. I dream of an ocean that was here a long time ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAah I am so sorry this is a week late, turns out I am way overscheduled this summer BUT the story continues!

In retrospect, Gob feels he may have over-reacted slightly.

 

“Babe.” Tony is half naked and coated with his first layer of body makeup. He always insists on it before shows with stripping portions, even though Gob has told him like, a million times that he has a rocking bod and that he looks great on stage. “I’m literally in my underwear and I still have pepper spray on me.” The assistant looks concerned at that. “I’m not getting adultnapped again if I can help it.”

 

“That’s- that’s good.” Gob is definitely not hyperventilating, nope. “Good that you’re- you’re safe and not kidnap- adultnapped again.”

 

“Hey.” Tony’s voice is soft and okay, maybe Gob is still coming down from that burst of adrenaline. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” 

 

“In my defense,” Gob sniffles, “you did fake your own death.” He feels his way over to a dressing room stool and tries to make his legs work right long enough so he can sit down without tipping over. 

 

Tony nods. “Yeah. And you found me.” There’s still awe in Tony’s voice when he says that, even after all this time, like the great big adventure he and Gob had while adultnapped by Sally is still fun to him, still worth it. “And like I said. Pepper spray.” Tony makes pointed eye contact with his assistant. “Hey, how long does this stuff need before it’s dry?”

 

The assistant frowns. “Another fifteen minutes, Mr. Wonder, but then you’re going to need to change quickly into your opening act outfit. Curtain time is at eight.”

 

His boyfriend grins, and god, Gob loves that man. “I can change fast. Give us some privacy, will you Charlie?”

 

Charlie is used to this, and thankfully, an excellent sport. After Tony’s last two assistants quit over what Adhir calls “third degree sexual harrassment” and what the assistants have called “excessive horniness”, Tony just started bring Gob to the interview and timed how much making out the applicants could handle. Charlie managed four minutes, sixteen seconds.

 

Which, coincidentally, is as long as it takes Gob to find where Tony hid the pepper spray.

 

Tony is nearly late for his set, but he still manages to give Gob one last kiss and a tip. “Remember to read the actual content of the letter next time, okay babe?” Because yeah. When Gob opens up the envelope, ignoring the residual pain in his heart that happens when he looks at the glitter, there is just a phone number and a five word sentence. 

 

_ Do NOT call before noon. _

 

Gob has Tony’s set memorized, so he doesn’t feel too guilty ducking into a closet that he knows won’t be used until the second act. He pulls out his cell phone, and when he notices his hand shaking by the pale blue light of the screen as he pushes in the numbers, he tries to ignore it. This is important. This is so important that a cop helped him and didn’t arrest him. This is important because it’s about the Bluths, but it’s also important because he’s the last Bluth, really. He’s here and he’s not in jail and he’s not on the ocean and he’s not secretly his own aunt. This is a Bluth problem, and for once, he feels like a Bluth in the good ways, not just the bad.

 

The phone rings for an insufferably long time.

 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line is light and feminine and sounds like laughter. 

 

Gob can only manage to choke out his own greeting. “Hey.” He can do this. “Is this A. Bluth?”

 

“Huh? Oh, you want Lindsay?”

 

His first instinct is to say ‘ew, never’, but that’s from the part of him that’s still eight and mad about Lindsay getting her own room. “Sure,” is the best he can do, because what? Lindsay doesn’t need to embezzle from the company, and if she did, Gob’s pretty sure she wouldn’t get caught by him, of all people. Lindsay is smart.

 

It’s another long few moments before a familiar voice comes over the line. “Who is it?”

 

“It’s me, Gob.” He has the strangest urge to add ‘your brother’, but if Lindsey doesn’t remember him, he’s not sure he wants to be talking to her, and he’s still not really sure on if Lindsay is his sister or not. “Lieutenant Toddler gave me this number-”

 

“-Oh.” Lindsay sighs, and Gob tries really, really hard not to take it personally. “Why were you talking to Linda?” Her voice snags on the name, but before Gob can figure that out, she asks in a rush, “Were you looking for me?”

 

“No.” The answer comes out heavy and honest, because if they can’t be that with each other, to each other, what’s the point? “I think Toddler and I were having two separate conversations. Our wands got crossed, if you will.”

 

Lindsay snorts, which is her real laugh, and Gob is happy for her, he really is. “I’m pretty sure the expression is ‘crossed wires’. What did you think you were talking about?”

 

“There’s someone embezzling at the Bluth company.”

 

“When isn’t there?”

 

Gob nods, then remembers that Lindsay can’t see him. “Yeah. That’s what I thought, but Adhir is actually-”

 

“-Who’s Adhir?”

 

“The compliance officer. You haven’t met Adhir?” 

 

“Nope. I’ve been... I’ve been busy, Gob, and I’m sorry but-” 

 

“-It’s fine, Linds, honestly.” And Gob thinks maybe that’s mostly kind of true. Or at least it’s true enough, in this moment, and that’s the best he can get. “Anyway, Adhir does the mathy math, and it really does seem like it’s not one of us.”

 

“Huh.” Lindsay pauses. “How does this link in with Linda?”

 

“I thought I should ask the police for help investigating.” 

 

When Lindsay laughs again, it’s her mean laugh, and Gob can already feel his shoulders tightening. “Wait, why is this your problem? Isn’t Michael in charge again?”

 

Oh. “He’s not here, Lindsay. He’s on the ocean studying pirate law.”

 

Michael and Lindsay were close, when they were younger. Gob remembers because he was older, and he wasn’t a twin, and even though he and Lindsay were the closest in temperament, there was something about the label ‘twin’ that made Michael and Lindsay special. It’s discerning, really, to know something about Michael that Lindsay doesn’t. To be talking to Lindsay when Michael isn’t. It’s like all of his wishes and bitching about being the oldest have suddenly come true, and he’s stuck trying to handle that much power and that much wish magic all at once. 

 

“Oh.” The line is silent, and Gob wonders (did somebody say) if Lindsay hung up. “That’s. Good for him?” 

 

“It is.” Gob answers the question in her voice, and crosses his fingers in case he’s wrong. “Hey, Toddler said you were dating someone famous?”

 

Lindsay giggles, and it’s not a laugh Gob’s ever heard from her before. “Yeah. We are.”

 

“We?”

 

“Gob, people can date more than one person at once.”

 

It makes Gob grin. “Who?”

 

“Sally, obviously. And our girlfriend, she’s. She’s amazing. She’s blonde too, like us, and funny, and she has a million freaking Emmys, and I’m really, really happy Gob. We get along so well. I didn’t think it could be like this, you know?” And Gob does know. It’s how he feels with Tony, when they’re at his apartment or having wine in Rome or just spending time walking on the beach, which they will totally get back to as soon as the memory of his mother and Dusty gets washed down into something less gross. “But, Gob-” Lindsay’s voice is deadly serious, and Gob knows what’s coming next, “I’m not coming back to Newport. And I signed an NDA, so I can’t tell you who-”

 

“-Is it Julie Bowen?”

 

The silence on the other end of the line is the most satisfying thing Gob has ever heard. Or at least it is, until Lindsay has to grunt out a “yes”. 

 

He knew it, he always knew it.

 

~~~

 

Later, long after he and Lindsey have said their proper goodbyes over the phone, and shortly after he greets Tony after a victorious show with a kiss and a fake flower bouquet, Gob realizes that he isn’t any closer to solving the A. Bluth mystery. 

 

He can read between the lines, he knows Lindsay is being sheltered by the Lesbian Thesbians. If he’s retained anything from his time with the Gay Mafia, it’s that members are not allowed outside jobs under any circumstances. Which rules her out, even if he never really thought of her as a suspect before now. 

 

He still hasn’t visited Buster in jail.

 

Some part of his brain that thrives on chaos is whispering that A is an awfully close letter to B, and that A. Bluth may just be Buster with a pseudonym. 

 

He could just go and ask. Buster can’t tell a lie to save his life.

 

Or at least that used to be true. Now Gob doesn’t know what Buster is capable of. Neither does the county, judging by how many times they’ve put him in solitary and then taken him out. Buster is a murderer at least once over, maybe twice if you count the thing with their grandmother. But Gob still doesn’t think Buster could be an embezzler. 

 

For one, Buster never cared about money. He liked his infinite graduate programs, of course, and the ability to buy whatever books or supplies he wanted. But he was never like Gob, he never needed money to make friends or buy lovers or to stock up on a steady supply of drugs and alcohol to numb out the sad reality of those first two things. 

 

Beyond that, though, Buster loves the family. He was the one who sent cards on every birthday, who remembered the phone numbers and kept insisting on the old traditions everyone else had blocked out. 

 

Which may be a motivation, now that Gob thinks about it. If there’s any legacy left for the Bluth children, it’s cheating and lying and corporate tax fraud. Maybe it is Buster, and Gob realizes in that moment that he would rather not solve the mystery at all than have to confront his baby brother in jail. 

 

Thank god he knows how to outsource.

 

In the morning, he’ll call Gene Parmesan. And Gene can find the answers, because Gene knows everything. When Gob was little, he thought Gene was Santa Claus, because he was everywhere and always knew when he was misbehaving. 

 

For now though, Gob just turns over and wraps his arm around Tony, and he stumbles into sleep the same way he stumbled into love, in fits and starts, but too tempted by the warmth of Tony literally and metaphorically to ever stop.


End file.
